


Insomnia

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Casual Sex, Episode Tag, In the future everyone is bisexual, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-27
Updated: 2006-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheridan doesn't think he'll be able to sleep; Garibaldi thinks he knows just what his commanding officer needs. Episode tag to Severed Dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Leyenn for the beta.

It was late. While there were always a few people up and about on Babylon 5, John Sheridan didn't meet more than two people in the hallways as he wandered, both of them maintenance crew. They saluted him with grins when they saw him. He smiled back, though his first instinct was to find a hole and dive into it.

_What we have done here today..._

It had to be done. He knew that. But seeing Earthforce as an enemy... that was...

Well.

His aimless wandering had taken him quite a way from his quarters, down by security. He poked his head in, just to see who was manning the place, if anyone.

Michael was watching the nearly-empty securecams. He swiveled around when he heard John's footsteps, looked surprised at his intrusion. "Captain. You're up late."

It _was_ late. He couldn't help but lean on the door frame. "Couldn't sleep."

Michael nodded, leaned forward to flick a switch on his console. "I would have thought you'd be burning the midnight oil with Delenn."

John coughed. "She's Minbari. They don't... do that."

"Ahh."

"And..."

Michael looked up, frowning at the pause as it lengthened. "And?"

He pushed off the doorway, moving to try and shake the words loose. "And she... dammit, Michael, she saved our butts out there. I don't know how she got those ships to come along with her... but I do know that she doesn't really understand... this. What this means to us." He was pacing. He stopped, forcibly, and collapsed against the console. "Dammit."

"Hell, I'm not sure if any of _us_ understands what just happened, yet." Michael was quiet for a moment, then stood and came around in front of him. After a moment, John managed to look up into his eyes. "What do you need, Captain?"

John closed his eyes. The blackness was nice. "I don't know."

"What do you need, John?"

"Ah, hell," he muttered.

Michael clapped him on the back. It felt different without his jacket on. "C'mon, John," he said. "My place. Let's go."

He hesitated. Michael sighed softly and said, "John... it's been a hell of a day. Come on."

"I never thought we'd have to fire on our own ships," he murmured. "Now we're all alone out here."

Michael tugged at his arm. He stood and followed.

There was a picture of Daffy Duck hanging over Michael's bed. It was something to focus on as Michael pulled John's shirt off and started rubbing his shoulders. Then Michael hissed and pulled his right hand away. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Wrist. Well, arm. Think I sprained something." A sigh, sort of a verbal shrug. "I've got it wrapped up, I'll let Stephen poke it again tomorrow. He had enough on his mind today."

"We've all got a lot on our minds today, I'm sure," he said without thinking.

"Yeah, yeah. So you," Michael said, turning him around one-handed, "get to take a break from that. Right now. Before you explode."

Michael's hand was on his chest. He let himself be pushed backwards, sitting, then sprawling on the bed. Then his belt was tugged off, then his fly unzipped. It was easier to think of these things in the passive voice, almost like it was happening in a dream. A nice dream. A very nice dream...

He was brought back by Michael's annoyed grunt. He craned his neck to look down at Michael kneeling between his legs. "You okay? How's your leg?"

"My leg," he replied, smiling grimly, "is imma-fucking-terial to the task at hand. And nice boxers, by the way."

"Thanks." Surreal. Just like a dream. That was nice.

"Silk." Michael rubbed his fingers around the waistband, then tugged. Up and over. The sudden draft was forced away by the heat of breath, the touch of fingers, palm--he was good at this. John closed his eyes and leaned his head back, luxuriating for a moment and willing to forget that this was quite indecent conduct between a soldier and his CO. Well, hell, he'd just flipped off all of Earthforce's other strictures. So why couldn't he stretch another rule in order t--AAH yes tongue _there--_

He gasped. Michael chuckled, then brought his tongue back, softly probing the wonderful spot on the underside of his shaft, then leaning forward to engulf the whole head in his mouth, wonderfully warm. John groaned and involuntarily twitched his hips forward a bit. Michael put a hand on his stomach, firmly holding him in place.

Michael was very, very good at what he was doing. His tongue laved John's cock, now softly ringing the head, now playing with his foreskin, now rubbing down the shaft as he pushed his head forward. He changed rhythms, first fast, then slow, agonizingly slow, then suddenly attacking with fluttering touches that danced across his nerves and made him moan. He was moaning a lot. He could hear--he could _feel_ Michael's breath coming harder. Now and then gentle hints of teeth, not enough to hurt, just enough to tease--he had such perfect teeth, and such perfect control, damn! And then he raised himself up, just enough to change the angle, and suddenly John's cock was sliding down his throat--oh, God, yes.

"Ah, keep that up," he gasped, "And I'm going to--" Or something, something not so coherent, he was narrowing, cohering, focusing down on that feeling that was building, and Michael just hummed "Mmm-hmm!" which felt so good, so--

He came, and he cried out, and he felt like he would have broken Michael's jaw if his hand hadn't been there, keeping him from doing more than writhing, feeling, pulsing, _being_ that orgasm and whiting out for a few glorious seconds. The whiteout was _fantastic._

Michael grunted when he got up, sat down on the bed next to him probably faster than he would have liked. "Feeling better?"

John looked up. He was being smiled at. "Much," he admitted. Michael's nostrils were still flared. "Can I return the favor?" He wasn't as experienced, he'd have to admit, but he was willing to try.

"Better idea. Turn over." Michael had already shed his jacket. He unsnapped his shirt and tossed it away.

He hesitated. "Bit of a control freak, aren't you?"

"Oh, yeah," Michael admitted, stripping down to his briefs. Tight briefs. John swallowed a bit, nervous or excited he couldn't say. Probably both.

He still didn't want to just give in, anyway. "Were you like this with Sinclair?"

Michael sighed and rolled his eyes. "God. Every guy I sleep with always has the same question. 'Bit of a control freak, aren'tcha? Did you pull this on Jeff?'" He looked down. John shrugged inquiringly. "Right. Yes, I'm a control freak, even in bed. Yes, I was like this with Jeff. But him, I tied down." He crossed his arms. "So are you going to turn over, or do I get out the handcuffs?"

He had to grin at _that_ image. Michael shrugged and crossed to his nightstand, opened a drawer and pulled out a small bottle of lube and a pair of manacles. "If I have to..."

"Point made." He rolled over onto his stomach, feeling the bed shift as Michael climbed up next to him. His fingers were warm as they skimmed over his back, slick, dipping down to rub gently around his anus. He hissed as Michael's forefinger pressed, entered, slid gently in. He couldn't help but twitch a bit, and clench. "Ah."

"Relax."

"Been a while." He took deep breaths, trying to calm down at the same time anxiety was trickling up and down his spine. Michael reached around with his right hand to run fingernails across his back, around to his stomach. It felt wonderful.

After a minute, Michael slid a second finger in beside the first. This time the stretch, the pressure, the sensation of being filled--he moaned in pleasure, then his breath hitched as Michael managed a third finger alongside. "Jesus, you don't fuck around."

"Well, technically..." He felt Michael's fingers pull out, and couldn't help the small complaining noise he made. Michael chuckled, positioned himself, then leaned forward over his back. "Ready?"

"Tease," John growled.

Michael laughed and shifted his hips forward and he was being pushed open and filled and he shuddered, breathing labored, trying not to move and just enjoy the sensations as Michael rocked back slightly and then _forward,_ deeper, back and forth until he bottomed out with the hard slap of his hips on John's ass. Then he started fucking him in earnest.

It only took him a few strokes to find the right angle. He laughed when John cried out, then worked up a rhythm that had him gasping "Yes--yeah, yeah," on every stroke. His vision was blurring, and then Michael reached around and started stroking his resurrected hard-on, and he could do nothing else but grip the sheets until his knuckles turned white and forget everything, everything in that white hot of pleasure rolling over and through him--"Ah, fuck, YES," and he didn't know if it was him or Michael yelling it, but the sudden shock rhythm change kicked him over the edge as he was plowed harder, harder, and then he was face-down on the bed feeling Michael shudder the rest of his orgasm into him and blinking sweat out of his eyes.

"Ohh, that was good..." Michael's warm bulk was nestled perfectly on top of him. It was worth the trouble breathing.

"Mmmm," Michael agreed.

"Thank you for talking me into this."

"You're welcome."

He enjoyed the sensation of Michael's breath tickling his ear for another few moments before asking, "Mind if I use your shower?"

"Be my guest." He rolled lazily off John's back. John gave him a glance as he passed toward the shower, and he just lay dreamily supine, eyes half-shut and a self-satisfied smile on his face.

When he returned, Michael still hadn't moved, but he was rubbing the bandages on his arm gingerly. "What's wrong?"

He looked up. "Nothing, I just... arm hurts. Need to have Stephen look at it."

"Well, at least it's your off-hand." When Michael didn't respond, he frowned. "Are you sure it's all right?"

"Uhh..." He winced. "Maybe. Sorry. Just suddenly real tired."

"You've been through a lot today." He looked around. "You get your own shower, I'll change the sheets."

Michael nodded, sat up... and stopped. After a minute he sighed. "I'll... yeah. Don't worry about it. You get home and I'll clean up here."

"No, I'll--hold on. Just sit here for a minute." He ducked back into the bathroom and came out with a washcloth. "Here."

He started gently cleaning Michael off. At the touch, he started, then protested. "No, John--Captain, you don't have to do this."

"Oh, it's 'Captain' now," he said, not stopping. "Not 'turn over or I'll handcuff you'?"

"Like I said, I'm a control freak, but I can take care of myself."

"Sure. And you're exhausted." He gave Michael's stomach one final swipe and straightened up. "I'll get your sheets. You've been through a firefight, you deserve to be spoiled a bit."

"Mmmm, if I had any more energy I'd slug you. But..." He reached out and pulled the sheet corner nearest him off the mattress, then flopped down on the bare fabric and closed his eyes.

John smirked, watching him, then gathered up the sheet and stuck it in the cleaning unit. He found clean sheets in a drawer, pulled one out and went to work putting the bed back together--Michael had pulled his pyjamas out and had managed to get one leg in. He groaned and finished getting them on before tumbling back onto the bed.

He let Michael snooze as he rebuilt his outfit. When he was dressed, he leaned down and shook his shoulder, gently. "Michael?"

He opened his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Michael grinned, slowly. "You're very welcome."

"Take care of yourself."

"I will." He yawned. "Now you get some sleep yourself, Captain. It's late."

It was at that. He gave Michael's shoulder one last pat, then headed back to his own quarters. He needed to be alert, tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. There was a lot that needed to be done.

And now that they'd seceded from Earth... all they had was each other.


End file.
